The ABC Of Growing Up
by hollywoodromance
Summary: Celeste Atwood and Addison Cohen take Newport Beach by storm. Meanwhile, Ryan and Marissa's marriage is about as stable as a category five, and Seth and Summer face unexpected surprises and decisions. Rated M for swearing and violent / adult situations.
1. Prologue

**THE ABC OF GROWING UP**  
_a fic by hollywoodromance  
rating for swearing, violence, and mention of adult situations__  
disclaimer: the only thing i own is this story and my original characters. everything else is not mine._

**PROLOGUE: THE OC  
**

"Vasser, Etienne Marie?"

From the corner of Mr. Cromwell's first period English classroom, Chad Folley let out a loud cough. Mr. Cromwell ignored it. Throughout his years of teaching at Harbor, he learned that it was usually in his best interest to ignore when his students coughed, laughed, snickered, grimaced, chortled, chuckled, sneered, or- sometimes- growled.

"Vasser, Etienne Marie?"

Mr. Cromwell looked up from his clipboard and scanned the classroom. Once again, Chad coughed, and once again, Mr. Cromwell ignored it. He ticked off the square which said absent next to her name, and scanned the class list one last time.

"So," he called, as he always did, "Atwood, Celeste Dawn... Cooper, Addison... and Vasser, Etienne Marie. Absent, absent, and absent."

Mr. Cromwell hopped off of his desk and handed the class list to one of his students. "Bring that to the office for me. Now," he added, "class, today, we will be continuing with Oscar Wilde. I _hope_ you've all read _The Picture of Dorian Gray_..."

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Celeste, Addison and Etienne clinked their champagne glasses together, and each took a very polite and modest sip.

The three girls were laying on beach chairs, soaking up the sun and the scenery. They each wore over-sized glasses; Celeste had Chanel, Addison had Burberry, and Etienne had to settle for DKNY because they were the only pair at Neiman which had remotely suited her long, thin face.

"This was _such_ a great idea, Addi. I mean, who would of thought tanning in the _backyard_ would of been just as great as the beach?"

Addison shrugged.

"Honestly bitches, the idea just came to me! I was like, mom, is Emilio done in the backyard? And she was like, no, and I was like, ohmiGOD, he is so hot, and then Heath-" at the mention of Heath, Etienne let out a sigh, which Celeste and Addison pretended not to notice- "told me that he's gay, and I was like, he's so not! And so, like, it came to me- the lifeguards are on strike, but not the pool boys!"

Of course, the Cohen's backyard wasn't like mine or yours. Their backyard was amazing. It was huge, to begin with, with a pointlessly large infinity pool and a tiny jacuzzi pushed off to the side (for when Seth and Summer were feeling frisky, as Noah pointed out to Addison one day.) There was a gazebo and a pool house, which wasn't anything to brag about- the size of a small shack with not much more than a bedroom area and a tiny bathroom. Grass and a few randomly planted flowers surrounded the entire yard. Suspended over everything was a modestly sized patio with exquisite furniture, usually reserved for family get-togethers.

Or this.

Etienne grinned and sipped her champagne. Celeste flipped her sunglasses over, staring as Emilio- the over-payed poolboy with the muscles of a Greek God- bent over to reach for something. Dayum.

"This is the life, girls," she mumbled.

"Mmm," Addison agreed.

"Oh, that reminds me. My mother wanted me to tell you... tell your mom that the dress is ready, or some shit like that."

"Hmm? Mine or hers?"

Etienne shrugged. "How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

Celeste shrugged back. Etienne's mother owned a dress shop- the finest in Newport, she often bragged, and Marissa had dragged Celeste to a fitting months ago. They'd tried on about a million gowns before choosing one. Her mother had claimed that there was nothing more important to a girl than her debutante ball, and her gown was a huge part of that. Celeste just rolled her eyes. It wasn't that she disagreed with her mother. It was just that her mother probably didn't know the first thing about what was important to _Celeste_.

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"Diane? Diane, Diane! Listen to me! I ordered _silk_, not _taffeta_- why the hell would I stick my daughter in something as _tacky_ as taffeta? Well, no, _you_ tell _me_! Diane? Hello? Ugh!"

Ryan Atwood crept into his kitchen, careful not to set off his wife. It wasn't that he was scared of her, it was just that she got a little...

"Can you _believe_ this? I mean, taffeta. And who was _she_ to get snippy with me?"

Ryan screwed his eyes shut. How did she hear him? Her back was turned, for God's sake!

"Hey there, honey."

Marissa ignored him. "Does she not understand how important this day _is_ to Celeste? I swear to God, she's got a two inch stick up her -"

"My day? Oh, my day was fine, thanks for asking,"

With a sigh, Marissa turned around. She looked down and crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. She knew she was being this whole... Julie Cooper monster, but she couldn't help it. She didn't want Celeste's debutante ball to be a royal disaster, just like hers. Marissa shrugged.

"Sorry, Ryan, it's just-"

"I know," he said, setting his briefcase on the kitchen table.

Marissa looked up, and their eyes met. That was why she loved him so much; she didn't have to say anything, but he got her. He just _got_ her. They smiled at the same time, before the phone rang and Marissa picked it up, silently praying that it was Diane to apologize.

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**A/N: **So, this is my first fic ever and I really want to know what you think. Good, not good? Give me your opinions!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Surprises  
**_disclaimer: pretty much, nothing belongs to me._

Ryan's home office was a wonderful place, filled with antique bookshelves and a large red Persian rug. There were leather sofas and a fireplace, a coffee table, and a very large and practical desk at the end of it all. Regardless, Ryan's favorite part of the whole room were the windows; two large and wide-open glass panels served as the back wall, and even though Ryan, Marissa their interior designer had butted heads over that addition, Ryan fought hard to make sure it stayed.

The whole room had a very regal feel to it. Sometimes, when he looked around, Ryan couldn't believe it; wasn't it just yesterday that Luke had welcomed him to the OC, bitch? That Dawn kicked him out? That he'd been whoever Marissa wanted him to be?

Then it would hit him. Kid Chino had grown up; they'd all grown up. They had kids and home offices and rugs that came from Asia. When Ryan found himself reflecting- and his moments for reflecting weren't many, he was simply too busy to sit back and think deeply- he found himself asking those tough, terrible questions we all ask ourselves in our most philosophical moments. Had he made the right choices? Had he lost touch of who he was? If Dawn or Frank or Trey came to visit him right now, would they recognize him?

Most importantly, though, Ryan would ask himself what he was doing to give back. Sandy had given him the opportunity to become someone, and he hadn't wasted it. But was he going to spend his whole life as one of those rich Newpsie-husbands, or was he going to give back?

This morning, Ryan Atwood was sitting in his fancy home office. The sunlight poured in from the windows and illuminated his computer screen (sometimes, Ryan reasoned that the interior designer had a point; the glare was terrible.) He was supposed to be screening some kind of project in San Francisco (San Diego? Who knew) via internet, but he just wasn't into it. This morning he was in one of those moods, and those questions kept on turning over and over in his mind. He had become the very thing he promised he wouldn't. Had he even spoken to Dawn since Celeste was born? No! It was almost as if he was trying to sever all ties he had to Chino. Which... was a good thing, right? At first glance, sure, but wasn't his life before Newport character building? Wasn't it a waste if he just forgot about it, like it never existed?

Ryan sighed and rubbed his temples.

This was just a mid-life crisis. His business partner, Pat, had gone through something like this a few years ago; of course, Ryan was a lot younger, and he faintly remembered the whole stint ending in Pat selling his shares and moving to Honolulu.

His blackberry bleeped, snapping him out of his thoughts. Thank God, a distraction.

"Atwood Architecture, Ryan Atwood speaking."

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"Well... we _could _go with red, but with your hair and your tan? That would look very nineties, honey," Marissa responded, absent-mindedly brushing through the most recent rack of dresses.

Celeste flinched. Red was very in at the moment, and she supposed if Queen Marissa had suggested it she'd be squishing herself into something very Valentino. Madame Vasser continued to wrap the measuring tape around Celeste's hips.

Marissa and Celeste were at the Vasser dress shop, home of Newport's most trendy, classical and expensive gowns. Madame Vasser, whose real name was Emilie, came from France when she was eighteen and married Gregory Harper, a rich, aging man who came from a very respected and wealthy family. They'd been married for nearly twenty years before he kicked the bucket, and about nine months after that Emilie gave birth to her first and only daughter, Etienne.

She remained unmarried, but Gregory left her every single earthly possession he had- including a shitty landr-o-mat next to Balboa Beach. Before you could say gold digger, the laundr-o-mat had become Vasser Gowns for all Ocassions, and before Etienne turned five, Emilie bought out the surrounding buildings and expanded her shop into what could only be described as a _complex._

Yet, after almost fourty years in California, Madame Vasser still spoke with a thick French accent, and every so often, slipped some foreign sounding words into her sentances.

"Zat ees a... trent-trois, vignt-cinque, trent-sept. Tres bien, Diane! Come eer please, get zee dress as I take down 'er measurments, s'il vous plait?"

Diane, a mousy haired woman in her fourties who looked like maybe a bit of sophistication wouldn't kill her, nodded from behind the counter and rushed into the back room. Marissa recognized her as the woman who'd confused silk with taffeta, and she secretley eyed her from the other side of the shop. Ugh, the incompetance.

"Now, Madame Atwood, if you will, you are looking for what, exactement?" Emilie asked, wrapping the tape measure around her palm and sliding her large and out-of-date Chanel spectacles on.

Marissa shrugged.

"Something exotic, I guess. Not for the actual ball, of course, but for the party we're throwing for her. She needs something that says sexy, but classy. After all," at this point, Marissa stopped what she was doing and faced her daughter, a hint of pride gleaming in her eyes, "it's her debut into society. It's the most important day of her life."

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She was mad. Of _course _she was mad.

Celeste was at a birthday party with Addison. They were all alone in their big McMansion, curled up on their leather sofa watching The Notebook and eating burnt popcorn out of a metallic bowl usually reserved for baking. It wasn't the most glamorous of nights, but Ryan treasured the few moments he had alone with his gorgeous Marissa. More and more, it seemed like life consisted of work, sleep, work, sleep, event, work, sleep, work, sleep.

But then he just had to go and ruin it. Ryan Atwood, man of little to no words, uttered the phrase that set off his lovely wife like a ticking time bomb. The conversation began light. They were at the part where Allie was being fitted for a wedding gown.

"Oh, that reminds me," Ryan began, "did you find a dress for Celeste yet?"

Marissa grinned.

"Mmm. Vera Wang, of course, very sleek, silk. She wanted something with an open collar, but it was too harsh on her angles."

"That's great."

Ryan bit his lip. "Marissa, we need to talk." When she shot him a worried look, he clarified.

"I don't think I'll be able to make it. To... Celeste's ball. I-"

"What?"

Ryan flinched. The coldness in Marissa's voice, the way her eyebrow shot up, this could not end well.

"Well, Larry called me earlier today and wanted to know if I could oversee this project he might want to do, in Chino. An apartment building, more specifically, for kids who need a home. It- it would be pro bono, obviously-"

"I see. And how would this be the cause of you missing the most important day of your daughter's life?"

"The day I'm supposed to go is... well, it's the twentieth. But-"

Marissa didn't give him a chance to finish. The twentieth; as in, the same exact day as Celeste's cotillion.

Her chest swelled with outrage; how dare he put his work before his daughter? She'd - they'd - waited fifteen years for this moment! Celeste was going to look beautiful... oh, Celeste, she was going to be so disappointed! Who would she dance with during the father/daughter dance?

Nice going, Atwood. Might as well rip your daughter's heart out while you're at it.

Marissa jumped up off the couch and flung herself towards the hallway.

Ryan followed. If he knew his wife, she was going to lock herself in the bedroom until she felt better; during that time, she'd probably freeze him out and pretend he didn't exist. It had happened once before, just after

"Marissa- please, just let me explain!"

His wife kept walking. Eventually, she reached the marble staircase. Ryan was lagging behind her, calling her name and pleading for her to be reasonable. It didn't work; she jogged up the stairs, reached their bedroom, and slammed the genuine Oak door shut with every inch of strength she had.

Out of breath, Ryan reached out and clutched the doorknob.

"Marissa. Come on. Come out... or at least let me in."

Ryan was greeted by silence.

From downstairs, Ryan could hear Noah's muffled voice tell Allie that if she was a bird, he was a bird.

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**A/N: **Chapter two, tell me if you liked it or not. In the third chapter, there's going to be SO much more Addison / Celeste and such. Review, guys! They make me post faster :)


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